s eyes
with a gesture of dismay, and turns fearfully to the wall. There is a
moment of silence, broken only by the rattle of the window in its casing
as it shudders to the distant boom of the guns far down the line. Then
Abbot steps to the bedside and places his gauntleted hand upon the
shoulder of the stricken man.

"Hollins! How are you wounded? Have you seen a surgeon?"

No answer for a moment, and the question is gently repeated.

"Shot through the body--rifle-ball. There was a surgeon here last night,
but he's gone."

"Lie still then until I get one. I would bring Doctor Thorn, but he has
too much to do with--too much to do just now." He comes near saying
"with our own men," but checks himself in time. He cannot "kick the man
that is down" with such a speech as that, and it is not long before he
reappears, and brings with him a surgeon from one of the arriving
regiments. Colonel Putnam, too, comes up the stairs, but merely to take
a look at the situation, and place a guard over both the wounded man and
his strange, shivering companion, Rix. Some of the soldiers are sent for
water, and others start a fire in the little stove in the adjoining
room. The doctor makes his examination, and does what he can for his
sinking patient, but when he comes out he tells Abbot that Hollins has
not many hours to live, "and he wants to see you," he adds. "Did you
know him?"

There is a strange scene in the cramped little room of the quaint old
house that night. By the light of two or three commissary candles and
the flickering glare from the fire one can see the features of the
watchers and of the fast-dying man. Abbot sits by the bedside; Colonel
Putnam is standing at the foot, and the adjutant of the--th
Massachusetts has been reading aloud from his notes the statement he
has taken down from the lips of the former quartermaster. One part of it
needs verification from authority not now available. Mr. Hollins avers
that he is not a deserter to the enemy as appearances would indicate,
but a prisoner paroled by them.

The statement, so far as it bears upon his official connection with the
regiment, is about as follows:

"I had personal reasons for going back to the Monocacy--reasons that
could not be explained to the satisfaction of a commanding officer. I
_had_ to see Mr. Abbot to explain a wrong I had done him, and avert, if
possible, the consequences. I left without permission, and rode back,
but found all the roads picket